


Bonfire

by king_size_sardine_pies



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_size_sardine_pies/pseuds/king_size_sardine_pies
Summary: Ozai’s leniency extended no further than sparing the boy’s life. Prince Iroh would remain in Caldera. The ship would be bare bones. The crew would be insubordinate dregs. They will be given a life sentence of service to an impossible taskPerhaps they would be lost to the endless search or to the sea—perhaps they would return in days. For the prince, in all his apparent weakness, had not regained consciousness before being stowed in the Minkat’s makeshift infirmary.Zuko did not wake as the cards stacked higher against him. He would not wake until a week of sailing passed between Caldera city and his floating cell.__________________________________________________________________An A:tlA AU where Zuko’s banishment is a bit less cushy, but arguably more effective.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 118





	1. One

The stacks belched thick smoke as the boiler resumed daytime operating temperature. It had been just one day since the _Minkat_ had left fire nation waters and already Lieutenant Jee could tell his life was over.

He had never aspired to greatness within the military, but he was smart. Success came easy to him as a soldier. He’d managed to work his way up from private to major-general at an admirable clip. Unfortunately, with greater responsibility came greater opportunities to cock it all up.

It had seemed straightforward. It was a misprint. Clearly, the dossier should have printed that the 14th battalion would lead the charge into the bay. They had greater numbers, firepower, and experience. They would stand their ground while the pincer cells moved in on the flanks. The 41st division were wet behind the ears recruits with zero practical experience. He chuckled and pointed it out to Teuchi, the delivering major. Teuchi refused to laugh. His young face was etched in grim lines—he said it was serious. The plan was to gum up the earth kingdom artillery with colonial cannon fodder.

Jee understood that war inevitably demanded sacrifice, but this unsettled him. He tendered a formal complaint which Teuchi joined and was summoned back to Caldera city for a demotion and punishment for “ _flagrant insubordination of the supreme will of our great phoenix king_.”

Jee wasn’t a career man, but the demotion from major-general in the army to _captain-of-a-fucking-bathtub_ grated on his pride.

If he had known that his refusal to sign off on the 41st’s battle plan would land him on this fool’s quest, well, he may have reconsidered. Even if the orders went against his morals, he knew what his obligations compelled him to do. Jee should have accepted the directive and said his prayers in solitude.

Now he would never have the opportunity. Solitude was hard one on a ship this small.

Demoted to a fucking tramp steamer for babysitting duty and his charge hadn’t even seen fit to grace the viewing deck with his royal presence. This would not do.

“Teuchi,” Jee called to his second who was fiddling with the command console of this ancient garbage-heap. Jee quietly hoped he kept the smoke from his hands, “where is the prince?”

“He’s in the infirmary, still” Teuchi frowned, drawing finely arched brows together. “Apparently the kid had some sort of accident before being brought on”

“What do you mean?” Now Jee was frowning, too.

“I don’t know,” Teuchi scratched at the small patch of beard in the centre of his chin. “I asked around a bit, too”

“Nothing?”

Teuchi shook his head. “Nope. Seems like everyone’s in the same situation we’re in.”

“Called in for new orders yesterday, on the boat today?” Jee guessed.

“Flagged for some petty command chain crime and sent straight on to the _Minkat_. No rerolling your dice.”

Jee frowned harder. Teuchi glanced at him and then away, expression cowed.

“Kind of you to call our insubordination petty, lieutenant.” Jee sneered. _Teuchi_ hadn’t been demoted from his army rank in the reassignment.

Major-general to captain. Really.

_Babysitting duty._

Really.

Jee sighed. “Well, his royal highness can explain himself to me.”

With that, the captain turned and left Teuchi to his fiddling. The incredibly out-of-date machinery on the _Minkat_ was beyond the scope of any of their experiences. Except perhaps Kenji, the engineer. That man was older—and larger—than a mountain. 

Leaving the bridge, Jee traversed the weather deck to the flush.

On his way across the upper deck, he passed Sora and Ikki, two young _in_ subordinates ejected from the eastern front for some failure to comply--possibly an explosion, if the rumours about Sora were to be believed. Clearly, these women were not planning on making a better go of it here. They were comparing throwing knives and whetstones instead of spot cleaning the rusted spots on the hull.

There were so many rusted spots on this spirits-forsaken bucket. 

“Officers, get back to work,” Jee commanded and they slouched to attention—hastily stashing their tackle and returning to lackluster scrubbing.

Jee carried on towards the infirmary, sighing. While the officers on board would keep up the pretense of the chain of command, Jee was under no illusions that they were remotely invested in the longevity of this mission.

They would not fix those rust spots. Not for Jee, not today.

He left the upper deck through the forehatch to the main deck. Here there were the four crew cabins, command quarters, a meeting room, and the infirmary all nestled snugly in less space than the barracks at his last field post.

Jee tapped on the infirmary door. A grim-faced man with a mop of salt and pepper hair answered. There was a smouldering cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. The cherry of it reflected in the blackened porthole of the infirmary door.

“Odd habit for a man of health,” Jee frowned.

“My improved patience benefits my patients,” he shrugged. “Toru, Captain Jee” he said, by way of introduction. He offered a large, lightly-calloused hand.

Jee took it and gave it a firm shake. Toru’s hand felt warm in his. “A firebender?” Jee asked, surprised. Toru nodded. It was odd to find a firebender in a non-combat military role. 

There were no follow up questions, so Toru offered no further information. He just continued on, “so captain, what brought you to my post?”

Jee straightened a little, “I heard our prince came to see you before he came to see me. Where can I find him?”

Toru barked a humourless laugh and took a drag from his cigarette before flicking it into a sandpot. “I saw him all right”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, in fact he’s still here taking up one of my beds.”

Jee’s eyes narrowed. Toru’s tone of forced relaxation unsettled him.

The medic opened the door to the infirmary all the way, allowing Jee into the tight quarters there. They walked down a short, narrow hall past a bunk and some cabinets to the larger infirmary area where there were four cots lined up against one wall and in one of them lay a slight form. 

Jee couldn’t help the frown that came to his face when he saw the young prince in the furthest cot. The boy was flushed with fever and more than half of his face was covered in thick white gauze and bandages. 

Toru crossed his arms and grunted, apparently disapproving of something.

“When I was briefed," he said, "General Iroh told me that Prince Zuko would be on the ship already and that I was to continue treating him for this injury he sustained. I don’t know what happened, but I can tell you I wouldn’t want to be within blasting range of a firebender capable of messing himself up that badly.” Toru winced sympathetically, “at this point, I’m not sure if he’ll see four days from now.”

Jee turned away from the Prince to look to Toru. The medic’s grim face settled Jee, awful as it felt to admit it.

Because maybe this mission wouldn’t be as long as Jee had feared. It was, after all, hard to follow the commands of a dead man.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still figuring out how notes work, this one should be at the beginning. Last chapter we met Jee, Toru, Teuchi, Sora, Ikki, and possibly Beni and Kenji. This chapter we meet the rest of the Minkat crew. There are 13 humans on ship, total. Jee and Zuko are the only AtlA originals.

Every ship launch goes the same way. Weeks of planning, meetings, and briefings coalesce to the launch day. Bedraggled masses of officers, crew, and other hapless souls march up the gangway at the ass crack of dawn armed to the teeth with adequate preparations. Even then, an equally disgruntled captain still barks orders, assigns roles, and coordinates the launch of the ship.

It is as things should be.

Orderly.

The _Minkat_ had no such orderly departure. Her crew were scraped together last minute, each walking the gangway with their own unique expression of resignation or resentment. They fell into haphazard order and began doing duties in a patchwork way. While arguably an admirable display of initiative on the part of the crew, it proved profoundly inefficient.

Crewmen, like soldiers, needed only three things: a schedule, a schedule, and a strict schedule.

Jee knew the importance of establishing some chain of command. So, after his stop in at the med bay, Jee called his crew to the upper deck.

An evening briefing would have to do.

Franky, Jee wasn’t even certain he knew who was on his paltry crew.

The men and women under his command gathered promptly and were standing at some semblance of attention—except for Kenji, who beat out Jee on age by at least two decades and clearly did not have time for this shit. The only people missing were the Prince, the medic Toru, and all three kitchen-staff. Jee frowned. 

“At ease,” Jee said. The crew relaxed and Jee could see Teuchi stand down out of the corner of his eye.

Jee walked down the line and took stock of his crew. There were fifteen of them, himself included.

“Alright,” he began, “I know that none of you want to be here. With that in mind, we will be keeping to basic operations. Split shifts, all duties covered—if you encounter anything on this ship that you can’t operate, find Kenji in the engine room. For now, morning crew is Ikki, Sora, and Ken. Evening crew is Aoba, Isamu, and Jing. Graveyard cover will alternate through us all, you do graveyard you get your next shift off. Clear?”

Jee received a surprisingly crisp company salute in answer. 

He could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to hope that the crew would be amenable to his leadership.

Now he would just have to begin managing their expectations for

“Good. Our directives are to support the prince in pursuing and capturing the Avatar, at which point we will return to the fire nation to receive further orders.”

There was a strained silence as the implications of what Jee said sank in.

Sora was the first to speak. She asked, “how are we going to do that?” The other officers nodded in agreement.  
  
Jee flashed a wide, charming smile at her. He had read more about Sora—excellent soldier, incredible firepower with her bending. Zero aim. She had been assigned to this ship to keep her strength in the navy, but far from where she could cause meaningful damage to Fire Nation assets.

“We don’t have to worry about that,” Jee said still smiling, “we’re just here to follow the prince’s orders and keep this ship from sinking.”

There were a few grumbles from the crew. Jing, in particular, looked steamed.

“If there are no further questions, you’re dismissed.”

With some minimal chatter, the crew organized into their shift groups and went about delegating tasks and organizing the bunk room to fit everyone with minimal discomfort.

\---

Evening in the infirmary was a quiet affair. Toru had begun reading about earth kingdom flora from the dusty references on the shelves across from his bunk, cigarette dangling from his mouth and hazing up the small bunk space he occupied. It should have felt cozy. It should have comforted him to be back on the waves—using his hard-won skills instead of rotting away at the clerical desk of the war hospital in Caldera city, but he could not ignore the heavy breathing from the cot in the corner.

Toru knew burns. No fire nation medic worth their weight in salt had a record clear of serious burns and this was not his first stint as a corpse mechanic. No amount of glamour afforded him on more prestigious ships could make up for the suffering of the officers under his care. He had seen burns, wounds, crushing injuries, and the cheerful aftermaths.

This was not the worst burn he had treated, but it was up there. He’d seen Sora while boarding yesterday. Sora had been an officer on his last ship, too. There, she had suffered a full-thickness burn on her thigh after a run-in with improperly sealed blasting jelly. The worst of the burn had been small, less than the size of two of Toru’s fingers pressed tight together, but the infection had almost killed her.

It had taken weeks for her to regain her feet, months before she could fight normally. Toru had learned a lot from that experience.

First, he learned how quickly burns seeped and festered. He sighed, the sigh of a man much put-upon, and stowed his book, stubbing out his butt in the sandpot.

It was not in him to begrudge a suffering child appropriate care, even if all he knew of Prince Zuko were whispered tales of his mediocrity and failure.

He shuffled over to the cot. The prince was lying on his back. The thin edges of the gauze were stained.

He began to remove the bandages. 

\---

Zuko woke and his face was still on fire.

It was the only thing he could focus on. His body reduced to a single flaming point in his left eye.

He would not be weak, though. He knew that much. It was important to be strong.

He tried to keep his breathing steady, what had uncle said? It was too far away… but he knew he had to breathe right.

It was hard. How could a bundle of fire breathe?

Zuko tried to open his eyes… why couldn’t he? _Weak_. He tried again.

He could make out a vague shape reaching towards his face and he reacted on instinct slapping it away.

“Stand down,”

A deep, unfamiliar voice commanded from above him. Zuko couldn’t place it. The hand came towards him again and he grabbed it.

The hand broke his grip easily. Why was he so _weak?_

The hand came towards him again, but this time, instead of reaching for his face, it came to rest firmly on his right shoulder. It pressed him into the bed. He couldn’t fight it—what was happening?

He tried to sit up.

“Calm down, brat! I’m just trying to change your bandages,” the hand-owner barked.

Bandages?

Zuko stopped struggling.

Bandages.

Context for his current situation flooded the confusion swirling in his gut. He remembered fire, his _shameful weakness_ , being carried? Who had carried him? Where had he been taken after the… after his father…

He tried to focus on the person beside him. He couldn’t make out the face clearly, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t the palace doctor.

Come to think of it, the dark room and stale air were not from the palace either. Zuko felt a gentle sway to the mat beneath him. He couldn’t be at sea, not in this state. Father wouldn’t…

Father…

Well, Zuko no longer knew what father would or wouldn’t do.

The hand hadn’t moved from his shoulder, but the pressure had stopped once he stilled.

The man continued grumbling above him. Something about stay still and it won’t hurt as much.

Zuko highly doubted that, but he would stay still. He would not be _weak_.

\---

The prince had relaxed, incrementally. Taught as a strung bow, still, Toru worried. Toru released his shoulder and went about removing the bandages. It was slow and painful work, but the prince did not move. Toru could see a sickly sheen of sweat condense on his chest as the final soaked patches of gauze were separated from his flesh.

Toru wished he would lose consciousness, but the tense set of his jaw and his laboured breathing indicated that no such blessing had come to pass. 

The burn on the prince was immense. Skin the width of a full span of Toru’s hand had melted away from the boy’s eye. The rest of the skin around his head, neck, and shoulder glowed faintly red as if they had been burnt by the sun. The very centre of the burn around his eye looked white and dead.

Toru picked up the old bandages and chucked them in bin. 

Assessing the damage, he knew that some debriding would be required. There was a shocking amount of fluid weeping from the burn, too. It was beginning to show signs of infection even though it couldn’t have been more than two days old.

How had an injury such as this had happened? He wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Had the prince been so concerned about leaving his comfortable station in the Caldera that he had done it to himself?

The graying medic mulled the question again, what had the prince done to be exiled in the first place?

Such meditations were clearly above his pay-grade, given that he was one of the score of men also sentenced to serve out the prince’s banishment, he would pay the details no mind.

He left his useless musing and went to pick up some fresh gauze and linen. He also peeked in the chemist cabinet and took stock of his options. His eyes lit up when he saw the painkillers and sedatives. The _Minkat_ was not so poorly stocked as he had feared. He picked up a dram of powdered sedative and filled a small bowl with water.

Nobody deserved to be awake while a burn this extensive was thoroughly cleaned, regardless of how it happened.

Toru prepared a batch of grade-A knockout juice and gently propped the boy’s head up to pour it down his throat.

He could feel the prince shivering, though his skin remained hot to the touch.

Toru frowned while he laid the boy back down. 

He set about his cleaning. He had known that it was too late to prevent infection. Whoever had first dressed this wound had done a piss-poor job.

Toru would keep his own standards of care, thank you very much.

\---

Zuko did not wake that night, nor the next day. His skin steadily flushed with fever.

In his dreams there was fire and there was ice.

There was a boy with glowing blue eyes reaching out to him from a mountain that belched smoke and wept rivers.

Every time he got close to the hand, his father would rise from the black clouds and call a great wall of fire.

Zuko would kneel before him and shatter into a billion pieces.

\---

On the third day, Toru tried to get some sugared and salted tea into the boy. It went poorly in that the majority of the tea ended up spilled and what little ended up inside the prince was expelled shortly thereafter.

Toru was good with a bucket.

That night, he changed the dressing again. The wound was weeping pus and the skin around it was hot and inflamed. Because the prince was thoroughly unconscious already, Toru felt no qualms about thoroughly irrigating it. He hadn’t seen the eye, but if there was any change of saving some vision, he would give it his best shot.

\---

Jee and Teuchi had wrangled the crew into order. It hadn’t been too hard, they found easy camaraderie with most of their fellow pseudo-inmates.

There were a lot of things that this ship needed before they were ready to even vaguely consider facing an avatar.

Or even just a mediocre rockhead.

There were spots of rust all over the hull and walls. The ship had been drydocked in a leaky hangar for decades and it showed. The weapons and armour aboard weren’t doing much better. Most morning, Sora would go lock herself in the armoury and begin cleaning like her life depended on it. She’d been at it for almost a full day, if you combined the three shifts she’d spent, and still more than ninety percent of the gear needed refurbishment. 

\---

On the fourth day, long after the latest marginally successful attempt to feed and water the boy, Toru thought he heard the prince speaking. So, he put down his volume of earth kingdom botanical woodcuts and trundled over to the cot.

The prince remained well and truly knocked out, so Toru returned to his reading.

He made it one step away when he heard the prince mumbling something. He leaned in closer to see if he could make anything out.

The boy’s good eye was scrunched up. He was saying something, but Toru couldn’t make it out. It sounded maybe like he was saying “no,” but to what?

Toru wasn’t sure.

\---

On the fifth day, steam rose from the boy’s nose and mouth as he laboured to breathe.

On the fifth day, Toru told Jee how if the prince’s fever didn’t break soon, then he wouldn’t make it.

On the fifth day, Jee told Kenji in the boiler to cut speed.

No point wasting fuel just to turn around.

\---

The daily tasks of sea life were relatively predictable. The crew fell into line, easy comradery between the small groups blooming in the salty air.

The mess hall of a ship small as the _Minkat_ was nothing to write home about. There was one long table with enough space to fit every person on board providing they were comfortable touching knee to hip to shoulder.

Isamu walked up to the counter and Beni, looming large behind the metal, slid him a bowl full of rice and steaming curry. It smelled amazing. At least, Isamu thought, his tenure on this ship would not find him suffering for lack of nutrition—even if Beni cut an intimidating figure. He thanked Beni and took his bowl over to the table to sit next to another surly looking wall of a man.

“Isamu,” the wall greeted him with a nod. He slid onto the bench, grimacing slightly to himself when he realized Aoba’s shoulder fully cleared his head. Stupid tall people.

“What’d they get you in for anyways?” he asked. Aoba frowned at him, great dark brows meeting and grave lines tugging down the corners of his mouth. He looked less like a military man and more like a hardened criminal. He seemed to know exactly how to leverage his frame for maximum intimidation, taking up more space in the galley than even such a large frame warranted.

Isamu was not one to shy away so easily, so he prodded— “look, we’re all here for some bullshit. For me, it was _allegedly_ betraying military secrets.”

Aoba’s frown turned incredulous. “How are you not in the rock?” 

“ _Allegedly_ ,” Isamu chuckled, taking a huge bite of curry. “They never traced it back to me, so this is the best they can do to punish me.”

Isamu heard a groan from further down the table as Jing sat down with a matching curriy. They must have just finished their rounds.

“It’s still a pretty fucking shit punishment” Jing groused. He was quite young compared to the other men on his shift. As such, he seemed more prone to complaints. “I can’t believe they took me off the front!”

“Why are you sulking?” Isamu asked, “at least now you’re less likely to be maimed by mudskippers.”

“I’ll take maiming over babysitting,” Jing grumbled into a spoonful of curry. The others knew he was stationed here more for incompetence than on suspicion of treason.

Isamu wondered for a second what the benefit of lumping all the suspected turncoats in the same pot was.

“Here here,” Aoba agreed, brandishing his own curry spoon in a mock toast.

Isamu looked at him pointedly, no way the wall was getting out of answering his question. Aoba raised his eyebrows. Isamu waved a hand as if beckoning Aoba to continue.

“Come on man, what did you do?” Isamu cajoled.

Aoba sighed, “look, it wasn’t anything dramatic. I’m loyal,” he paused and looked deep into his bowl like it held answers, not sustenance.

“Nobody is doubting your loyalty, we’re all here, aren’t we?” Isamu encouraged.

After a tense few seconds of silence Aoba continued, “Brigadier General Ken on the northern front. He passed under my watch.”

Isamu had heard about that, it had only been a few months ago. The Brigadier General had been found dead by poison

“How treasonous,” Jing said, eyeing Aoba with thinly veiled suspicion. There was a moment of tense silence before they all erupted in laughter.

Isamu grimaced, “good riddance if you ask me. We’re here to occupy and colonize the earth kingdom, not traffic earth kids.”

Aoba nodded, a thoroughly disgusted scowl drawing down the corners of his mouth. He had seen enough morally questionable leadership in the more far-flung trenches. “At least Jee seems like a good sort,” he said. “He thinks this is as stupid as we do.”

“Ha, yeah, can’t imagine being pulled from his last position and thrust into this bullshit. Who does the prince think he is dragging us along on this spirit tale?” Jing sneered; expression ugly on his pinched face.

Shrugging, Aoba asked, “what can we do? It’s not like we have a choice.”

“It _would_ be convenient if he just died,” Jing muttered.

“Woah,” Isamu cut in, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t wish death on any of our exalted royal family.”

Jing rolled his eyes and stabbed his spoon into the curry, “Look, it’s already not looking good. I overheard Jee talking with the medic—apparently the kid was in a pretty bad training accident before being shipped off to us. He may not make it.”

“Why is he even on the boat then?” Aoba asked.

“He was banished for some reason or another,” Isamu explained. “All secrets up near the top, but word is he’s unable to return to the fire nation without the Avatar in chains.”

“That’s rough,” Aoba said after a tense silence. Then, he whipped out a battered deck of cards and asked, “d’you guys know how to play four-card split?”

Some things about the life of a sailor never change. There’s always more work to do, there’s never enough time to sleep, and there’s no such thing as dry socks.

And nobody can resist the allure of a good, old-fashioned card game.

\---

On the sixth day, Toru tried again to feed the prince some broth. Today, the boy seemed less troubled. He was still hot to the touch—far hotter than any firebender should be—but his breathing was calmer.

It was easier to get him to drink. 

Incrementally, tension began to chip away from Toru’s shoulders.

\---

The crew had started taking bets.

Toru never ate with the officers; he kept his meals with the kitchen staff so that he and Beni could smoke together without bothering the rest. So, the crew hadn’t had much opportunity to question him. He was a of surly kind. Any attempts to corner him in the infirmary were met with the same gruff response:

“You dying?”

“No?”

“Then get lost.”

The crew were left to their own devices to guess what had happened to the prince. The whole crew tended to eat breakfast together. Even if some of them were decidedly not morning people, the firebending contingent of the crew tended to carry on a good conversation. Being firebenders, most of them had some amount of experience with training accidents, so they mulled it over. Most of the crew kept it respectful—well, as respectful as any bets on the life and visage of your potential future ruler could be.

Except for Jing.

While Sora figured it was a training misfire by some likely no-longer-living instructor, Jing had started spouting off about how some failed assassin could have smeared blasting jelly on his face then lit him up. 

Nobody would be trusting Jing near the blasting jelly.

“Man, that’s sick,” Isamu spat, half-heartedly glopping the remaining jook around his bowl. 

“I’m just saying,” Jing said with a conspiratorial slant to his eyes, “if it had been my job, I’d have just spiked his drink”

Isamu shared a pointed look with Aoba.

Or the winter solstice wine, for that matter.

\---

As the sixth night crept into the seventh morning, the prince’s fever finally broke.

The pained muttering and shivering turned into relatively calm and quiet slumber. 

Toru relaxed a little bit. It seemed like the little prince would make it.

\---

The first thing Zuko noticed was the stale taste in his mouth. It felt like he hadn’t cleaned his teeth in a week.

He didn’t venture to open his eyes immediately, instead stewing in half remembered fragments of dreams. He remembered broth.

He remembered his uncle’s concerned voice.

He remembered his father’s hand coming to rest so surely on his face—

Zuko shot up in the cot.

Ants danced in his vision and he couldn’t see out of his left eye. After a stabilizing breath, he checked with his fingers and found bandages covering the whole side of his face. It hurt, but not unbearably. Any slight motion of his face pulled at the tender skin, so he tried to remain still.

The room was dim. It was daytime—late afternoon—he could see the sun reflecting on the wall and he could feel where it was in the sky. He maneuvered around to look out the porthole.

Endless seas.

He could feel the rage bubbling up from his gut.

Zuko was so angry with himself.

He was the one who had done this. He had disobeyed his father’s commands, disrespected the fire lord in his own war room.

Then, to make matters worse, he had showed shameful weakness in refusing to fight for his honour.

This was his fault.

He groaned. How could he have been so _stupid?_

There was a noise from a few feet away. The shift of a body in a bed and rustling of papers told Zuko someone else was here.

A curtain was dragged back to reveal a stocky older man with an incredibly impressive mustache. Zuko eyed him warily.

“Good morning, Prince Zuko. How are you feeling?” the man asked genially.

Zuko didn’t even think before blurting out, “it’s not morning.”

That got him a chuckle. The man walked over to the cot and sat on a corner of it. Zuko tried and failed to covertly edge away from this stranger. He noticed and put his hands in front of him as if to calm a spooked Ostrich-horse.

“I am Toru,” he said, “I’ve been taking care of your training accident.”

 _Training accident_.

“How long have I been out?” Zuko asked.

“Just under a week,” Toru replied, “you had a very high fever. It will be a few days before you’re really feeling right again.”

Zuko looked at the man, considering.

The medic capitulated under scrutiny and continued, “well, as right as you can be.”

“How bad is it?” Zuko bit out, steeling himself for the answer. He could feel the way the medic’s eyes travelled over him, as if they were gauging how much he could handle. That was bullshit. Zuko could and would handle whatever the outcome was.

“Well,” the man said, “the burn was quite severe. I was concerned that your eye would be lost.” Zuko clenched his jaw. The man continued, “fortunately for you, it appears that the eye will remain. I can’t be sure that you’ll have your sight, nor can I be sure you’ll have your hearing. We’ll cross those bridges when we get there. For now, we’re going to change the dressing every day.”

Zuko let that settle. Not knowing if he would be able to see or hear from the left had him swallowing against the chokehold of dread that threatened to engulf him.

It wasn’t something he could name, but the medic’s words—we’ll cross those bridges—gave him something to hold onto. This was his burden to bear alone, but even just the offer that maybe someone else could be there to help him survive—that it was the medic’s job to fix him—kept him anchored.

Anchored enough, at least, to start moving towards his absolution.

He collected the things he knew about his situation:

  1. He had been banished
  2. The crew, thankfully, were unaware of the shameful reason why
  3. He had to find the Avatar



The only thing truly within the bounds of his control was item three.

He _had_ to find the Avatar, so he _would_ find the Avatar.

“Medic Toru,” he said, trying for calm and control and coming admirably close, “send for the Captain of this ship. I would like to make a plan.”

\---

After a week at sea, ship operations had reached a sense or normalcy. Jee learned the ropes of seafaring from his surprisingly reliable crew and began sorting through the resources afforded this ships makeshift war-room.

He had been updating an older map with some of the newer colonies and conquests when Teuchi let himself in with a knock.

Jee looked up from the map expectantly.

“The prince is awake,” said Teuchi as he scanned the chaotic spread of maps on Jee’s table. Jee sighed and started collecting the papers in a more orderly pile.

“I suppose I should pay his royal highness a visit.”

“Better late than never,” Teuchi said, lingering on _never_. The implication settled on Jee heavily before he cast it aside. It did not suit him meditate on the mortality of children.

He stowed the maps away and allowed Teuchi to lead him to the infirmary. Teuchi knocked.

“Figured you’d come,” Toru said in welcome. He turned, guiding the commanding officers to the back where the prince was sitting on a cot with his legs crossed. His face was more bandage than anything else, but his visible eye was bright, almost glowing like Agni’s light.

“Captain” the prince said, voice rough and surprisingly deep.

That was for the best—Jee couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to get the crew to listen if the prince’s voice hadn’t cracked yet.

It struck him, in that moment, how young the prince was that this could have been an issue.

“Your highness,” Jee inclined his head in performative deference. To his surprise, so did the prince. “Are you aware of your situation?”

There was a brief flash of anger on the boy’s face. “Yes,” he gritted out.

Jee was a smart man. He had dealt with many different sorts of folks in various stations and situations throughout his career. He knew that this first interaction with the prince would likely set the tone for their continued cooperation over the course of the mission.

This mission that could take _years_.

No matter how badly he wanted to drag this out and really put this child in his place, he could not do that to himself or his crew. He owed it to them to try and start out on the most favourable footing.

“So,” Jee simply asked, “what are your orders?”

He paused for a second, then added: “sir,” for good measure.

Agni, how it grates on him to defer to a _child_.

\---

Was this a test?

Zuko eyed Jee warily. He wasn’t sure what the right answer was here. Plus, he was tired and his whole body hurt. Thinking wasn’t _helping_.

He had to find the Avatar, that much he knew.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind:

_“Find the Avatar. Bring him to me in chains. Only then will I welcome you back as my honourable son.”_

He had to find the avatar.

Zuko scoured his memories. There were no records of either a waterbending, earthbending, or firebending Avatar in the hundred years since the attempt Sozin made on the airbending Avatar’s life. Frustration burned in him.

The first place you start looking for something is the last place you had it.

He had to find the Avatar.

He had to find the Avatar to restore his honour in the eyes of his country and his father.

Zuko glared at Jee.

“We’ll go to the Western Air Temple”

\---

Jee studied the prince. He was not terribly enthusiastic about trekking around looking for ruins, but he would. There was something admirable about the determination in the boy’s exposed golden eye. Intentions clear, even though Jee could see how his hands trembled minutely.

“We’re about a day’s sailing away from the nearest port. From there, I have no idea where to go.”

The prince looked at him.

Jee looked at the prince.

Toru stopped flipping the pages of his woodcut book to keep tabs on the staring contest. He pointedly raised an eyebrow at Jee.

The prince broke the silence with a truly impressive sneer.

“Well then,” he ground out, “how about you make yourself useful and go find out?”

Jee could feel the skin under his eye start twitching.

He would not raise his hand against a child in an infirmary.

He would _not_.

“Yes, your highness.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! We have an actionable step. Originally, I wanted this chapter to be the full first year, but I think I get to mired in details to make that a reasonably sized chapter. So we're gonna go with chapters like this instead. 
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated! If you spot an error let me know so I can fix it. (except for the "ou"s).
> 
> Much love,  
> Sardine


End file.
